Death Cry. James Axler

under his left arm. The black, metal-covered unit stretched from beneath his armpit right down to the curled tips of his gripping fingers, and he was forced to keep his arm straight to carry it. They had left the monitor and keyboard behind, knowing they could substitute these items when they reached their headquarters at the Cerberus redoubt. “This thing is going to throw my aim off,” Grant advised the others. “I can keep you covered, but I don’t think I can do much pinpoint work.”

      “Won’t be necessary,” Kane assured him, still clutching the flask. “Baptiste and I will handle things, won’t we?”

      Brigid sight-checked the chamber of her TP-9 before answering. “Can’t wait,” she said grimly.

      With that, the three-person reconnaissance team began to jog along the shaft, making good speed without exhausting themselves as they worked their way up the muddy incline.

      They didn’t meet anyone along the shaft, but as they turned a slight corner close to the exit, they suddenly found themselves assaulted by a volley of bullets. Kane urged his companions backward, and the Cerberus trio waited just around the corner as a stream of bullets peppered the wall across from them.

      “Told you,” Grant said quietly as the stream of bullets slapped the wall.

      Taking point, Kane edged forward to the turn in the shaft, answering Grant without looking back. “They’ll get bored in a minute.”

      Kane drew his right arm back and stepped two paces forward before tossing the gunmetal flask ahead of him like a baseball pitcher. The flask hurtled through the air toward the entrance to the mine shaft. Still tucked behind the curve in the shaft, Brigid and Grant heard the astonished cries of Millennial Consortium guards as they saw the projectile fly toward them.

      Kane ducked behind cover as a stream of steel-jacketed bullets poured into the shaft. “Look away,” he instructed Brigid and Grant. “Close your eyes and look away!”

      All three of them turned to face the underground lair that they had just come from. A second later an almighty noise assaulted their ears, and even from behind lidded eyes they could see the bright flash of an explosion.

      Moments later, Grant and Brigid were chasing after Kane as he led the way, Sin Eater in hand, up the last part of the shaft and into the open air.

      “What the hell did you just do?” Grant asked, incredulous.

      Kane snapped off a shot from his pistol, and the bullet swept the legs out from under a millennialist guardsman who was rubbing at his eyes, his own pistol forgotten in his limp hand. “I stuffed the flask with flash-bangs,” Kane explained as he darted out of the entrance and continued running, head low, across the snow-carpeted ground.

      Once outside, they could see that the millennialists had arranged themselves in a crescent shape across the open entrance in a determined bid to trap the Cerberus exiles inside the shaft and, presumably, contain the expected explosion when the dead man’s switch was detonated.

      Brigid loosed three shots from her TP-9, catching two of the dazzled millennialists in the chest and clipping the gun hand of a third. A few paces ahead of her, Kane was firing 9 mm bursts from his Sin Eater, mostly as warning shots rather than aiming at specific targets. The way he saw it, they were pretty much home free with the opposition blinded by the flash-bangs; it didn’t warrant unnecessary deaths now.

      The flash-bang was a little explosive charge that provided exactly what its name implied: a big flash and a loud bang. Kane and Grant carried various different types of the little capsules, some able to generate copious amounts of smoke or a foul stench upon breaking, and they used them for distraction in favor of actually hurting an enemy. The bright glare of the flash-bangs could temporarily blind an unsuspecting opponent and make his or her ears sing, but it wouldn’t leave any permanent damage.

      Grant didn’t want to think about how many of the little explosive spheres Kane had packed into the flask, but he could see that it had dazzled the millennialists into submission. “Vintage Kane,” he muttered as he chased across the snow after his colleagues, his rolling gait compensating for the weight of the computer unit.

      The snow was falling heavier than when they’d entered the shaft, thick flurries obscuring their sight as they rushed up the low hill and past the fir tree that Kane had used for cover. Kane took point with Brigid and Grant a few paces behind. As they ran, their boots leaving heavy tracks in the deepening snow, they heard the familiar report of a gunshot, and a bullet zinged past Grant’s ear.

      “What the—” Grant yelled as he spun back to look over his shoulder.

      The gunman he had encountered inside the underground lair had awakened and was running after them out of the square shaft entrance. Grant threw himself at the ground, using his right shoulder to cushion his fall as he saw the gunman sight and fire again.

      A spray of bullets zipped past over Grant’s head as he sank into the soft snow, still clutching the computer base unit to his side. “A little help here, guys?” Grant called as he clambered up the hill amid a further hail of bullets.

      Kane and Brigid stopped running, spinning on their heels and sighting the gunman outside the boxy entrance. Their guns blazed in unison as bullets flew over their heads, and suddenly the gunman’s head snapped back in a spray of crimson.

      Kane leaned forward to give Grant a hand up. As he pulled the big man back to his feet, a movement caught Kane’s eye. He looked up, over Grant’s head, and spotted the large black object moving between the ridges of snow like a prowling panther. It was a Scorpinaut, one of the tanklike vehicles that the Millennial Consortium employed for field operations, and it was heading their way.

      “Troops,” Kane began, “we’ve got bigger problems.” He pointed a little to the left of the minelike entrance, and Grant and Brigid looked where he indicated. Suddenly, the dark shape came into view between two mounds of snow, weaving around a copse as it headed up the slope toward them.

      “Must have been looking the other way when you set off the flash-bangs,” Grant speculated. “Got any ideas?”

      Kane’s mind raced as he calculated the various factors that were now in play. “The Mantas are about a click away. We could get there in under five minutes without that computer slowing you down.”

      Brigid gasped and looked at Kane with pleading eyes. “No, we can’t leave it behind after everything we just went through to get it.”

      “Nobody’s leaving anything behind, Baptiste,” Kane told her. “Just need to find a way to give Grant a head start. You guys go on, and I’ll catch you up as soon as I’m able.”

      Just then, the amplified voice of a well-spoken woman split the air, and they realized that it was coming from a speaker unit set on the hull of the Scorpinaut. “Attention, runners,” the woman’s voice said, “you have stolen properties that belong to the Millennial Consortium by right of salvage. Please cease and desist your current actions and return the property immediately, or we will be forced to reclaim by any means necessary. We urge you to swiftly comply.”

      Grant started trekking up the slope, shifting the computer beneath his arm as he did so, struggling to secure a firmer grip.

      Brigid turned to join Grant, the TP-9 still in her hand, then she stopped and turned back to their team leader. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

      Kane shook his head, watching the Scorpinaut navigate up the slope. “Play chicken with five tons of heavily armed wag, by the look of it,” he told her, shrugging out of the white jacket he had worn for camouflage. Then he was off, a dark shadow against the white snow, running back down the slope toward the approaching Scorpinaut, the Sin Eater held in his upraised hand.

      Kane half ran, half jumped down the snow-covered incline, his legs and arms pumping as he made his way toward a group of low trees off to the right of the approaching vehicle. He saw the foreclaws of the unit whirr in readiness, and then they were spitting fire in his direction as a stream of bullets began cutting through the air. Kane leaped and weaved, always moving, giving the crewof the Scorpinaut the